


Estimated Time of Arrival

by appending_fic



Series: Going Somewhere [3]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cake, Fluff, M/M, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Planning, Weddings, catering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-05-29 20:25:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15081053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appending_fic/pseuds/appending_fic
Summary: Tony Stark is planning the wedding of the century, and Peter and Rocket are just along for the ride.Quiet moments of reflection and realization on the path to the Big Day.





	1. Who's the Best Best Man

"I don't understand. If you're marrying Rocket, shouldn't _he_ be the best man?"

Rocket snorted from his place sprawled across Peter's lap, leaving it to Peter to explain to Drax, which would have been a lot easier if he actually _knew_ where the phrase 'best man' came from.

"I think it refers to the best man to have around if someone tries to stop the wedding."

"So we should be pulling out the big guns. Hey, Groot! We're trading you out for Banner!"

"I am Groot!" Groot snapped from the other side of the galley, scowling.

Drax pounded his chest. "Even if I were not the best man, I would happily combat anyone who would halt your wedding. You and Rocket are dear friends and deserve the greatest happiness."

"I don't deserve shit," Rocket grumbled. "'M getting it anyway, if we can work through this asinine list of Stark's. Who do we know who can throw flowers around?"

"I am Groot?"

Rocket picked up the datapad and squinted at the list Tony Stark had e-mailed them to start wedding planning, scowling when, presumably, the letters didn't immediately resolve themselves to something legible. "Pretty sure we're not supposed to double-up. So I think you have to choose between best man or flower girl."

"I am Groot."

"Aw, come on, I was just messing with you." Rocket craned his head around to look up at Peter, eyes wide. "Right? Tell him I was messing with him, Quill. I don't want Banner in the wedding party - one mishap and we're not getting our security deposit back."

Peter grinned and looked over at Groot, who was leaning against the counter, still looking as mutinous as a tree could manage. "He's joking, Groot. We're not kicking you out of the wedding."

"I am Groot," Groot replied, morose, and that sent Rocket scrambling out of Peter's lap, nearly catching Peter's stomach with his claws, and clambering up the counter, muttering, "No, no, no, no, no," the whole time.

Rocket grabbed Groot around the torso, a tight, desperate grip. " _No_. We're not - I'm not getting rid of you. I…" His voice was too low to make out after that, which meant it was probably something emotional and sincere. Groot's rumbling reply was also too quiet to make out (but Peter bet it was, 'I am Groot'), but it made Rocket laugh, his surprised bark rather than of his more worrying variations on a laugh.

"Hey, Quill, how you feel about kids?"

"What, in general, or-" The realization drew Peter up short as he took in Rocket and Groot in a fierce embrace. "I mean, the jury's still out on seeing what the assortment of mad scientists we call friends-"

"I don't know about _friends_ ," Rocket muttered.

"One of them is planning your wedding."

"Taking _over_ , more like it," Rocket grumbled. "With best men and flower girls and _ushers_ -"

" _Anyway_ , setting aside whether we're going with Groot's plan of getting some mad scientist make us a test tube baby, _obviously_ marrying you meant I was getting the kid you already _had_." Peter went over to join the not-a-raccoon and tree on the counter. " _Jeez_ , Groot, it's not like you weren't already family, but if marrying Rocket gets me a job as your step-dad, it's a pretty good bonus there."

"Ah, _flark_ , Baby Boo." Rocket lunged at Peter, arms tight around his torso. "Thanks," he murmured. "Groot's too cool to do this, so pretend this is from him, too."

Peter held his fiancé gently, until Rocket pulled away of his own accord, surreptitiously swiping at his eyes while Peter’s bulk still shielded him from view.

“I say we tell Stark to stuff it and have Groot be best man and flower...tree?”

“I am Groot.”

Rocket snorted and dropped back down onto the floor, grinning like when he was planning to make someone’s life difficult. “Yeah. Best Groot and flower Groot. Now what about _you_?”

“What _about_ me?”

Rocket poked Peter’s shin, just light enough not to draw blood. “I already got the best man, so who’s your second pick?”

Peter shrugged, because he _hadn’t_ given it a lot of thought. He was pretty sure Gamora - any of his friends - would stand up if he asked, but none that felt like an important enough part of his relationship that he’d want them _there_ -

“Oh.”

“Oh what, Quill?”

“I’ve got an idea.” Peter scratched at one of Rocket’s ears as he passed. “Gotta go text someone.”


	2. Cake You Can't Get in Space

The cake was dark blue, almost black. The baker had painted sparkling flares over that, a mess of colors that reminded Rocket of nothing more than the Ravagers’ colors. They’d promised the end result, to accommodate all their guests, would be taller than Rocket.

But what was currently entrancing Rocket was the _smell_. It was rich, sweet and bitter all at once, and had a moistness to it that promised something dense and delicious.

It was so wonderful that the alcoholic tang to the scent barely registered.

“What _is_ it?” Rocket asked, quietly, almost afraid speaking too loud would break the spell that allowed this miracle to exist. “Because I wanna marry it instead of Quill.”

“That’s the flourless chocolate stout-“

“It is _not_ ,” Rocket snapped at Stark, who took a hurried step back, after a few poor decisions had taught him to keep his hands away from Rocket’s mouth. “I’ve _had_ chocolate, and none of the shit Quill got his hands on smelled _this_ good.”

Stark offered Rocket a sharp, smug grin. "Welcome to the difference an obscene amount of wealth makes."

Rocket breathed in the scent of the cake, savoring it. "And you're saying we can _have_ this?"

"We've got three other-"

" _I want this one_."

"Wow, is that your sex face? Because if so, I'm actually a little envious of Quill."

"What?" Rocket glanced back at Stark, who was grinning, smile all teeth. "You're planning my _wedding_ , Stark; this is _not_ the time to be _hitting on me_."

"Whoa, hey, sorry!" Stark raised his hands, placating. "I was just fucking around, Rick. I mean, word around the saviors of the universe circle is you are quite the catch-"

"What." 

Rocket didn't know what in his tone made Stark stop his aimless pacing, looking down, brows furrowed, but Stark had only looked _slightly_ more worried in the face of a man intent on using his inferior understanding of economics to drive his genocidal tendencies.

"Rick. Rocket. Rocky-"

" _Nope_."

"Rocket, buddy," Stark continued smoothly, "ever since news about you and Starlord got out, people have been _abuzz_. After the expected debate about whether you _were_ in fact a raccoon, we got into the testimonials. Barnes likes you, which got you Captain America points. And of course _all_ the babies like you, and Pete, with the notable exception of me, is an excellent judge of character. You are apparently capable of beating up _everybody's_ dad, and the mature chat got some choice details from Drax-"

"What the _flarking_ -"

"The takeaway is that you are apparently a catch. Would I tap that if we were both single? Possibly. But we are not, and you are getting married, and we are getting you this cake because if you make that face, you are _definitely_ getting laid on your wedding night."

"I don't need your help to get _laid_ , Stark. I am a _catch_."

After a moment, though, he added, "Although I would very much like to have this chocolate cake at my wedding, thank you."


	3. Momento

"Okay," Peter said, "I know you brought in Thor because he, like, comes from a 'feasting' culture. And you're here because you know fancy event food. But what's with…" He paused, waving at the third judge. "You know, I don't think we've met."

"Clint," the guy said, holding out a hand. "And you're welcome."

"You're...what?" Peter glanced at Tony, hoping for some sort of clue, which, as it involved explaining something to a person he thought was clueless, Tony jumped right on.

"Once it became clear we'd screwed the pooch on keeping Natasha out of the spotlight, we tapped Clint here for the...covert portions of the plan. He is _very_ good at what he does."

"That...still doesn't explain why he's here."

"I am here because this panel needs at least one person who remembers what normal Earth food is supposed to taste like."

Which, point. Growing up in space, you learned to tolerate, even enjoy things, that a few discussions with other humans had revealed were unpalatable to someone whose tastes were shaped by a single biodome.

"Alright, let's go ahead."

Tony'd gone for a nice variety - an Italian place that did a decent chicken something with too many 'inis' to remember, some delicate steaks, and…

"The third one," Peter decided.

"We haven't even talked-"

"No, no, I liked the little packets of meat," Thor agreed. "And the sauce that went on the rice was fit for a god."

"Yeah, where _is_ this place?" Clint added. "Because if this is one of places you need a three-year waiting list to get into-"

"I set up like four other tastings here," Tony retorted, frowning, looking a little put out - like, not biting-level put out, but definitely snippy (Peter paused a minute to wonder when he'd started judging people's moods based off how likely someone was going to get bitten).

"Yeah, well. On our first date I took Rocket to this place that is...probably about as far from China as it's possible to get in the known universe. But this place had, like, this amazing food that reminded me of Chinese food. And you know, it was a nice night."

"Oh my god, you two are like, tooth-rotting, sometimes. Tell me you at least got some that night."

"That's none of your flarking business!"

"Holy fuck," and Tony Stark was like, _right in Peter's face_ , grinning like it was flarking _Christmas_. "It was, like, the first time you two had sex, wasn't it? Your wedding caterers are commemorating the first time you got some sweet raccoon ass." He straightened up, still grinning. "I approve."

"I honestly hate you," Peter groaned. But because he apparently enjoyed embarrassment, added, "but _I_ wasn't the one who was getting ass that night."

Tony's grin widened. "Oh my god this is the best day of my life."


	4. Not Wearing White

"No," Rocket repeated.

"But-"

"I could say no _after_ biting your favorite finger off," Rocket said, baring his teeth at Stark. 

"Come on, Rocket, it's the twenty-first century. No one's gonna question your masculinity if you wear a dress-"

Rocket laughed, because it was flarking _adorable_ how some Terrans got when they were trying to show off how 'open-minded' they were. "I'm from _space_ , Tin Man; I don't wear pants because I'm a dude, I wear them because something like _that_ -" And he was certain Stark had picked a dress with extra frills just to push whatever boundaries he thought he was pushing, "makes it impossible to _move_."

"Huh." Stark looked the dress up and down. "Friday, call Natasha. We can figure out what _she_ wears when she's forced to femme it up."

"Why is this so important to you?"

"This is a celebrity wedding," Stark retorted. "If _one_ of you isn't in a dress so fabulous it makes young ladies cry they take away my wedding planning license."


	5. The Old Ball and Chain

"I don't get this 'last night as a free man' business," Peter said.

Steve looked up from his drink (a virgin pina colada, because he still hadn't gotten over being able to have tropical fruits whenever). "What?"

"Rocket insisted we watch like twenty movies about weddings, to get a feel for the whole 'Terran wedding experience', and everyone's always telling the guy - and why the flark are there like no movies surrounding a wedding with two guys, or girls - that the night before the wedding's his 'last night of freedom'."

Steve shrugged. “Some guys don’t like thinking anyone else has any control over their life.”

“Yeah, but setting aside the fact I’ve already agreed to marry him, I’ve been exclusively dating Rocket for like two years; how am I any less free tomorrow than I am today?”

“Look, we’re on the same page. If you want to get an explanation, I could drag Sam away from the pool table. If you want to debate, I bet we could dig someone up in here.”

Peter snorted. “Don’t bother. I just wanted to complain. And do this: hey! Next round’s on me because I’m getting married tomorrow!” That got a cheer from everyone, even as the announcement gave Peter a little thrill of nerves. Obviously nothing would actually be different tomorrow. He and Rocket co-owned the ship they lived on, had been living together for 18 months or so, dating for two years, with no plans to change any of that (though an actual house on a half-decent planet was starting to appeal, somewhere to go when they had nowhere to be). 

But it _felt_ like something would change. Obviously, Peter would be able to call Rocket his husband, which had his own thrill, and there was the whole ‘Rocket Quill’ thing which had sort of prompted the decision.

But talking about it to Steve, who was great, but had never been married, didn't seem helpful. Peter considered flagging down Kraglin, but he doubted _he_ had insight about lasting marriages.

“I’m gonna go see if Drax can shed some light on this. You’ll be okay?”

He got a thumbs up from Steve, allowing Peter to weave his way through the crowd to where Drax was presiding over some sort of dance off.


	6. Bachelor

Rocket’s communicator began buzzing insistently at his hip halfway through his duet with Baby Stark (who as it turned out _actually_ looked 12 under that spider mask). He handed his microphone over to Groot, improving on the lyrics, if not the actual performance, and stepped aside to answer it.

“What do you mean you _lost_ him?”

Quill’s best man, despite having had about one-third responsibility for raising him, and should _know_ how to wrangle him, even when drunk, had, through age, drink, distance, or something in the water on Terra, proven incapable of keeping an eye on him for more than two hours, as Quill had disappeared at some point in the last half hour.

Rocket waved down Stark, because he was halfway smashed already, making Stark’s brain slightly more useful than Rocket’s.

“What’s up?”

“Kraglin lost my fiancé, and not even the great Steve Rogers has any clue where he is,” Rocket snapped. “Ideas.”

Rocket had to hand it to Stark; he was able to shift to problem solving mode without even a stutter, applying equally well to issues with wedding invitations as to _losing one of the required participants_.

“Okay. He have any family in town?”

“No, the Quills are from Miss...issippi? Missoula? Flark, I don’t know. A hole that didn’t appreciate him.”

“Okay. Anywhere he wanted to visit in New York? Statue of Liberty? Natural History Museum?”

“We got our tourist shit done last couple of days in between emergency meetings about _napkins_.” Stark hadn't even looked sorry for wasting their time with that.

"This would be a great time to tell me you've got a microchip in him."

"No, I haven't stuck a _microchip_ \- oh." Rocket shoved Stark aside so he could get a better look, and yes, there was his errant fiancé, sitting at the actual bar.

"What - oh." Stark grinned. "Should I call off the search party?"

"Knock yourself out, I gotta take this."

Rocket hopped up onto a chair next to Quill, poking him in the side. "How'd you get by the bouncer?"

Quill looked up from his drink, something amber; he smiled wide at Rocket, dispelling Rocket's momentary concern Quill might have been upset. "Rocky! I missed you."

"Missed...I saw you three hours ago."

"And?" Quill dipped in to kiss Rocket's nose. "Doesn't mean I can't miss you. Anyway, I got to thinking about this whole thing. Spending the whole flarking night apart. Calling this my 'last night of freedom'. I've basically been yours for like two...and a half years, and proud of it! Hey! This guy over here's owned my ass forever, and I'm _glad_!"

"That is very good to know." Stark settled on the chair on Rocket's other side. "I'm on the phone with Rogers - should I tell him to move the party over here?"

Quill was leaning in closer to Rocket, one hand on the back of his neck, which meant removing him from the vicinity'd be more trouble than it was worth even if Rocket _didn't_ want him here.

"Yeah, sure. Hey! Bachelor party's over! Wedding party starts now!" Quill pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Rocket's neck, which normally might have embarrassed Rocket, but if there was a day he could unashamedly make out with his husband it was...well, tomorrow, technically...or today, possibly. But he was pretty sure tongue was out of the question at the actual event.


	7. The Main Event - Peter

Peter took a deep breath. And another. Tried to remind himself this wasn’t life or death. He looked up and caught sight of Kraglin at the front of the room, who gave him a tentative wave. He wondered what it would've been like to have Yondu up there - a nightmare, probably. Someone would have had to talk him down to using Kraglin and have Yondu give him away or something. Groot was flower girling the shit out of the audience, and he could just about see Rocket’s ears from where he was standing in the other wing.

It _was_ life or death, he realized. Or at least, it was his life.

The processional started playing (and Peter couldn’t even remember the title, now), spurring Peter into motion. On the other side of the aisle, Rocket did the same.

There was a brief hiccup when Peter saw what Rocket was wearing. Somebody, Tony probably, had talked him out of the suit Peter had assumed he’d be wearing. Instead, Rocket had a half-sleeved shirt made of a matte green fabric, not quite clinging to him, but showing a hint of muscle when he moved. It rose high on Rocket’s throat, no tie (Peter had not expected Rocket to consent to wearing what was basically a garrote), but concealing even the hint of Rocket’s scars. He had on a deep blue skirt with slits up to his mid-thigh on both sides, and as he turned when he and Peter met at the aisle, grinned at him, almost sheepish, or nervous, the way his ears were held back.

“What can I say? Stark’s pretty persuasive.” Tony _was_ , in fact, having wormed his way into the position of officiant. But it had probably taken a _lot_ of persuading to get Rocket into an outfit he could trip on.

“If you’re good, I might show you how easily it comes off later,” Rocket muttered, and Peter almost choked.

Too soon, they were at the front of the room, the saviors of the universe, assorted family members and hangers-on behind them. Tony gave them a gentle, friendly smile, and waved at Peter and Rocket to turn.

And the it was just Peter looking down at Rocket, seeing the anxiety in Rocket’s stance, the hopeful sheen to his eyes, like there was something he desperately wanted just in reach.

Peter smiled at him, reached out to take Rocket’s hand.

“Ahem. Jumping the gun here a little, guys, aren’t we?”

No force in the universe could have stopped Rocket from flipping Tony off. Tony, for his part, took it with grace.

“Keeping it classy, okay. Hey, everybody. In case you just skimmed the invitation, we’re here to join Peter Quill and Rocket, who has asked me to remind you he is not a raccoon, cat, fox, rabbit, or Muppet, in marriage. I do not intend to make this long, but would like to say a few words before we get to the reception and everyone’s too drunk to pay attention.

“Was I surprised when I heard the mighty Starlord and Rocket were hooking up? Yes...and no. These two, they’ve got each others’ backs. Not just in fights. You watch them in public and you see they stay in sight, in reach if they can manage it. Not because they can’t bear to be apart, but because they love being together. They’re friends and partners and I think that’s the best way to build a marriage.” Tony cleared his throat; Peter was pretty sure he was trying to keep from crying up there. “Anyway, now the gentlemen will speak, because someone decided he wasn’t having any with Terran wedding vows when he heard about the ‘love, honor, and obey’ versions.”

Rocket snorted, but refrained from the extensive rant he’d gone on when he’d first heard the phrase, despite the fact Peter wouldn’t have dared ask him to use _that_ one.

But it was Peter’s show now, so he took a breath, met Rocket’s gaze.

“Hey. I remember two things about the day we met - the first was how much of a vicious bastard you can be, and the second was you declaring my ass was yours. For everything that’s happened since, some things haven’t changed. You’re still a vicious bastard when you put your mind to it, and my ass is still yours. Just…I guess it’s a little more official. So I’m proud to stand up here and tell the whole flarking world I’m yours, for good.”

“Flarking _hell_ , Quill,” Rocket muttered, but he was smiling at Peter, sort of helplessly.

“And that’s your cue, Rocket.”


	8. The Main Event - Rocket

Rocket shot a glare at Stark, who couldn’t give a guy a minute to _compose himself_ after that speech. But Quill squeezed his hand, and Rocket decided to put off telling off Stark until after he was married.

There was a moment of panic, fear that his stupid shit wouldn’t match up to Quill’s vows. But it was too late to make any revisions, so Rocket was stuck with what he had.

“Never thought I deserved much of anything. Not anyone willing to stick around me, much less love me. You never tried to tell me differently, Quill, just loved me regardless. And yeah, who the hell knows if I deserve it? You make me believe I do most days-“ And Rocket was flarking _crying_ now, in front of Stark and Parker and the biggest badasses in the universe. But Quill’s smile, beatific and yeah, a little teary, gave Rocket the little flare of courage not to care and just plow through.

“You never tried to change me, never tried to hold me down. Which is why I guess you got me, Baby Boo, as long as you want.”

Quill shook his head and mouthed, ‘no returns’, wringing a slightly hysterical giggle out of Rocket.

“Well, lovely as that was, we do have some checkboxes here to make this official. Peter Quill, do you want Rocket to be your husband?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“And Rocket, you want Peter Quill to be your husband?”

“ _Flark_ yes.”

“Well, that is pretty much it. Congratulations, you’re married. There’s usually a kiss here, as long as you keep it PG-“

Rocket was already lunging because no one, not even Stark, could tell him where and when he could kiss his _husband_. Quill caught him, pulled him up, and took Rocket’s lips with his, a gentle interlocking, a long moment that Rocket savored in a way he hadn’t their _first_ because he hadn’t expected anything out of it. But this was his first kiss as a married man, the first of a lifetime, so he made sure to enjoy it.

“Alright, we aren’t here for the show,” Stark muttered. But then he looked up, grinning. “So let me introduce for the first time Peter and Rocket Quill.”

And there were a lot of great memories of that day, but that moment, right there, was the best, because it was proof they were _there_.

And then Quill, the asshole, swung Rocket around into a bridal carry to go back down the aisle; Rocket nipped at his hand, just hard enough to notice, but not to demonstrate actual displeasure, because he was where he flarking _belonged_ , even if he was temporarily going to a party thrown _entirely_ in his honor.

He kissed Quill against just because he could, and then tugged at Quill's ear. "Come on, Stark's paying a lot for this open bar, let's put that money to good use."

"Whatever you want, Rocky."

Good thing, then, Rocket already had what he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here this is. Literally the end. I don't really have anything planned beyond this (never really planned this story to get as far as it did), so I really hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for all your kudos and lovely comments, everyone!


End file.
